The WRITE thing to do

"Your not mad at me are you?"

I swallowed hard and shook my head. But the pit was there. A blackness of shredded fury twisted, folded, grew. And not just anger, but hurt, I felt double crossed, swindled, cheated on. Loyalties were crushed.

"No it's fine. No worries."

I shouldn't be mad. I could see how excited she was, how this fire burned within her. It was her motivational high and I didn't want to stomp on it. But it was my story.

Of course I only had six chapters written and I wasn't sure how long it would be till I got back to it.

(unfortunately I am known for starting projects and abandoning them with careless vigor)

But the idea was mine. I read her the first chapter and she fell in love with it. She requested she write it with me. I shrugged and agreed to it.

I knew there was no real need for me to be so upset.

We talked of a joint venture, that never really began. It was too complicated, our outcomes and characters were all different. But though I was not eager to admit it wouldn't work, she was busily writing. While I put off mentioning my doubts or adding to the plot, she scribbled away with a completely new book.

And there she was, one day waltzing in with a radiant smile, declaring she had gone on without me. She had a whole slew of new chapters and characters and I was out of the picture. The fire had lit within her while mine fizzled out.

Weeks passed and she busily wrote. I tried to write as well, but nothing inside of me churned, thrashed, egged me on. And then another day arrived with her on my doorstep.

Yes it was my first chapter, my idea, but her perseverance and countless late hours that created a full fledged novel. Sixty thousand words, constant brainstorming, many sleep deprived nights and she had finished.

I was happy for her, impressed, and jealous. All this while
I killed time and took a hiatus from writing and now she had a complete novel written. I had gotten busy immersing myself into homeschooling my daughter, while ignoring that other itch I possessed.

Another summer approached and she had finished her editing. She had asked for my editing help, but I refused.
I felt that chip still pinching my shoulder. I was too busy what with school and kids and...not writing.

And then most recently an agent requested her first fifty pages. That lump the size of a fist swelled in my throat. JEALOUSY. I wanted her to be successful, but I also wanted it for me.

"That could have been me or us."

Chants in my brain swirled within me. And once again those harbored feelings showed their ugly. Why? That was MY first chapter. Why did I say it was okay?

And then I had to breathe...and......WRITE. Writing is the best medicine. It helps you to see both sides better, to revive the mind of all the memories and plans, stories and experiences. You get a fuller picture when you lay all your emotions into words. And it heals.

I really do hope she gets her book published and she can go by the name of author. And with all her hard work and commitment she certainly deserves it. She has now lit a fire within me, and now it is my turn to burn the midnight oil.

PS yes I am writing again! :-) maybe I will share a little when I have enough.